Stifled
by Diana Longman
Summary: Katie has it rough, ignored by her father and tortured by her brothers. One day, though, Katie meets some special friends, and things start to change. Possible romance later on. You'll have to read to find out!
1. The Problem with Family

I stifle a groan as my kid brother dumps more dishes in the sink. If I so much as twitch, I'm gonna have to clean up the whole yard today, too. Dad's seriously mad today for some reason. That's seriously bad for me, cause I'm always the one who takes the heat for anything that goes on around here, my fault or not—even if they know the real culprit.

You're thinking, Whoa, whoa, back up, friend. Exactly why do you get blamed for everything? Long story, and glad you asked, 'cause I've been needing to get this off my chest for a while. Here goes:

My dad was adopted at birth by a Chinese dad and a Japanese mom. Grandfather is SERIOUSLY conservative in the Chinese way of thinking, meaning he thinks guys are the best thing in the world and women are to be treated as little more than personal property. We don't even get animal status. Don't get me wrong, he really does love Grandma, but not the way an American or European guy loves his wife (the FAITHFUL type of guy, that is).

Grandma's the sweetest little lady there ever was, and you won't find a better comforter anywhere, but she's a wuss. No arguments about it. So, Dad got raised to think the same way Grandfather does. He married a woman from a family that breed their s to be housewives (how medieval is that?), and so received no opposition when he started raising kids the way he was raised.

Mom and I are no less than doormats for him and my brothers to walk on. I feel like Cinderella, only in this version the mother is the sissy, and the siblings are the ones that are evil and the real parent is just seriously misguided. They have no excuse whatsoever for treating me the way they do. They've grown up in public school since the very beginning, so they know that women are equal to men in pretty much everything nowadays. They should be defending me, but instead they treat me like the scum of the earth.

I'm not aloud to complain. I can't even speak without being spoken to at home, not even with Mom. I'm basically supposed to be a robot that does all the chores and gives up everything she's ever held dear. That's me, Katie the human doormat.

Erk! Incoming paternal unit! Must pretend to be enjoying washing dishes by hand. (Yuck.)

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Okay, that's the backstory for my character. Next time there should be some real action. Please R&R anyway. 


	2. Yay for School!

I do not own TMNT (duh). I _do_ own Katie, Courtney, Sean, Jason, and Dad (laugh), so ask before you decide to use one of them. I'll probably say okay, but I want to know what you are using him/her for first.

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I nearly drop the dish I'm washing when I hear Dad say that Courtney and Sean are going to be going to the Shang-Wu Institute. From my research—actually random toodling around (I sneak time on Courtney's computer)—I know that it's this really posh private school for those of Chinese-American decent (Dad really is part Chinese) with way-above average IQs (those are geniuses, right?). Anyway, the beauty of the whole thing is that Shang-Wu is a private _boarding_ school. If that's true, then I won't have to deal with those two except on weekends, and Jason (my littlest brother, who truly adores me almost as much as I love him, even though he can be a brat) won't be getting egged on by them to do all that horrid stuff (like burping in my face, dumping his plate down my front, etc.). Plus, I won't have to wait for either of them to be gone so I can use the computer! 

However, Dad isn't done yet. He goes on to say to whomever it is he's talking to (I can't turn around to see) that I'll be going to high school. I really do drop the plate, then. Fortunately for me, it lands on a rather large sponge.

8888888

It is SO hard not to skip as I go down the front walk of the school with Dad walking right beside me. We walk into the front office, and the secretary at the desk on the far right lights up as she sees us.

"Well, good morning! I assume you're here to enroll?" Dad winces. He s being addressed by women, and he s it even more when people assume things. I bite back a grin as Dad regains his composure.

"Yes."

She turns to me. "Well, then, come on in, and we'll fit you for a uniform while your dad fills out the necessary paperwork." Again I find myself fighting off a snicker. I love this lady!

We go into the s' fitting room behind the office, and I immediately see that this will be no ordinary uniform. It's like somebody went crazy designing mix-and-match outfits (I like looking at Land's End's online catalogue). There's something along the lines of thirty shirts, maybe twenty different types of jackets, and about forty-five or fifty different types of bottoms, all of them majorly . . . well, cool!

The lady said that they got a ton and a half of money from a donor for the mix-and-match uniforms, so everybody gets to pick five outfits, and repair costs were covered in school fees. I'm ecstatic, but then I think about what Dad's reaction would be if I picked out what I wanted. I'd never get to go here, and I could tell that this was where I wanted to be.

I go over to this long skirt (which is quite possibly the ugliest thing in the room, the clothes I'm currently wearing not included) and pick it up. I be telegraphing my feelings somehow (even though I've become quite adept word of the day) at it), because the secretary--Ms. Whenell, I see from her nametag--notices.

"Your dad one of those guys one of those guys who think women should still be required by law to wear long dresses?"

"Yeah."

"If you want, you can just have that thing and not count it. None of our other students is going to want it. You could come to school in it, then change into one of your other uniforms when you get here. We even have an emergency washer here that use can wash them in."

"You serious?"

"As the plague."

I grin at Ms. Whenell and go to town. I love this woman!

8888888

Dad explains to me on the car ride home that I am expected to take the 6:00 public transit bus to school in the morning (it starts at 7:45), and after school take the bus that runs the route the soonest after school. (That one doesn't leave till 5:35, and school gets out at 2:30.) I am expected to "occupy myself suitably" in the time in between. For the umpteenth time that day, I struggle not to laugh. _Define "suitably"!_

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Yes, I know that I promised there would be some real action in this chapter, but I haven't had time to draft that part. Also, I needed to explain some of the stuff that'll be in here, so I decided to use this chapter. I _can _tell you that it will happen within the next few chapters, about the time I introduce a couple of the guys. So please don't kill me.

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	3. Did you say GYMNASTICS?

I do not own TMNT. I do own my OCs, and I will hurt you if you take them without asking.

By the time I'm done with my chores at 5:25, my dad's been gone for 15 minutes. He works downtown, and has to be there by 6:15. I almost feel sorry for him. If I run, I can be at the stop to catch the 5:30 and be in town by 6:00 and have a whole hour and three quarters to scope out the area, and maybe do a little window shopping. I grab my backpack and make a dash for it, clutching my bus tokens in my hand.

As I run, I think about the week before my brothers headed to boarding school. Dad had them parade around in their uniforms, which look like a Chinese got ahold of the pattern for the Smeltings uniform used on Dudley Dursly. (I sneak time with Courtney's Harry Potter books. If there's one thing he has good taste in, it's books. He had to leave them all behind, though. Mwahahaha!) The shirt/jacket is a traditional Chinese shirt, brick red, which the designer proceded to ruin with long sleeves with a bit of a poof at the top, kind of like on ladies' dresses in the late 1800's (more toodling around on the Internet). The pants look like something out of a bad B movie on the Revolution, tight with buttons at the bottom, only the buttons are gigantic golden dragon heads, and the pants a shade of dusty plum usually reserved for bruises. The shoes are even better: white witch-type shoes, complete with silver buckles and three-inch-high heels. By far the best thing about the uniforms, though, was the socks. They're lime green with orange dragons, and--get this--black laces. My stomach still hurts from trying not to laugh, then laughing so hard I cried as soon as they were out of hearing range. I think they make the uniforms like that to keep the boys on the grounds.

They left with a suitcase full of underwear and sheets (the only things they were aloud to bring from home) each, painful smiles on their faces as they had to get in the car in their uniforms with all of their old school friends watching. That was two days ago. Two glorious days of solitude to plan my strategy on how best to use all that free time between school and the buses. And laugh at the memory of how stupid they looked.

I catch the busdriver just in time, hand him a token, and slump into the nearest seat. I plan out which uniform to wear that day, deciding on my black-collared sailor crop with mid-length black sleeves and a red ribbon-tie, black pleated skirt, and blue leotard. I'll figure out which shoes go best when I get into the school.

I see it's my stop, and climb off the bus. I explore the shops around the high school for three quarters of an hour, finding among them a cute French boutique (the cashier, a sweet blond lady, told me what it was called), a jewelery store, three old-time department stores, a greengrocer, and a bakery-cum-cafe, where they give me a free giant cinnamon roll with lots of cream cheese icing for being the first person through the door that day. I need to remember that; the only thing I'm aloud to have for breakfast is a Grapenuts knockoff that tastes like the cardboard box it came out of.

As I sit down to eat my roll, another student walks in. Her uniform designates her as from my school, but she's awfully skinny, and her shoes have definitely seen better days. She walks up to the counter expectantly, but the baker tells her, "Sorry, Jenna, you got beat today." Poor Jenna looks about ready to cry. I stand up, saying, "Here, you can have half of mine. This thing's big enough to feed four people." The smile on her face more than makes up for losing part of my breakfast.

"I'm Katie, by the way."

"Jenna."

"Yeah, I heard. Cute name."

"Thanks."

"Where--"

A buxom blond bursts through the bakery door, making the sleighbells on the doorknob jingle like they're on Bobtail's sled. "Hiya, Jake!"

"Hello, Monica. You're early today," Jake the baker says amiably.

"Yup!" Monica turns to Jenna and me. "Are you guys here early for the gymnastics class, too?"

"Gymnastics class?" a bewildered Jenna echoes. I'm right with her in the bewilderment thing.

"Yeah, there's a free gymnastics class being taught at JHS this year." It's then that I notice her uniform. She goes to Jenkins, too.

Jenna's face takes on a rapturous look. "Cool!"

"You serious? It's free?" I query, thinking, _This is just way too many too-good-to-be-trues for a gal to handle in such a short period._

"Yup, it's free!" Monica chirps.

Wow. This. Is. AWESOME! A smiling Monica turns back to Jake and orders a blueberry muffin, then sits down at the corner table with us.

"You guys know my name, but I sure don't know yours."

"Jenna," whispers the shy, blue-eyed, redhaired miss.

"I'm Katie, and the only reason I'm wearing this fashion disaster is that my dad is reeaalllly old-fashioned."

Monica eyes the abomination hanging from my waist and grimaces. "I really feel for you, m'friend."

8888888

When we arrive at Jenkins, we grab our gym leotards (each has one, 'cept they're all different shades of blue and have different designs), sling 'em on in the bathroom, and (noticing on a hall clock we're two minutes late) run like mad toward the gym.

My eyes get HUGE when I see all the equipment. It's like someone went mad designing a habitat for monkeys.

The instructor, who'd just started her welcome speech, stops talking to grin at us when we bust through the doors. "Welcome, ladies! You're just in time. Have a seat." Jenna and Monica plop down on either side of me on the bleachers, and the instructor (Mrs. Waithe, the gym teacher) asks how many in the group have had gymnastics training. Jenna hesitantly raises her hand and says, "A-a little b-bit, when I was about 6. I don't remember very much."

Mrs. Waithe smiles at her and says, "That's all right. Since no one else has had any, you can just start over with the rest of us. Okay, before we start, any questions?"

I raise my hand, imitating Jenna. "Just one, Mrs. Waithe. How often will the gymnastics classes be?"

"How's every day sound, with repeating lessons every other day, then a mass review on Friday?" We all cheered so loud you'd think she'd just announced that N'SYNC and Ben Affleck would be joining us. "That settles it then. Oh, one more thing: call me Coach. Now, who wants to go first?"

And so began my first day as a freshman in high school. Not a bad start, if I do say so myself.


	4. What the Shell?

Okay, guys, I know a lot of you are busy, but seriously, with an average of a hundred hits per chapter, one would think that I would get more reviews. That's kind of sad. I need help here, and I am seriously not getting it. If you even have two minutes, please write a review. Just one thing you liked and one thing that needs work. That's all I ask. Okay, ranting aside, here's the next chapter.

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Gymnastics class (we learned somersaults, flips, and how to fall from a handstand without getting hurt so bad), English (I got a B+ on my first grammar test!), and Biology passed by in a blur. Lunch time was here before I knew what hit me. Now I'm sitting with Monica, Jenna, and Devon (somebody I met in English) at a lunch table, mooching food (my lunch was measly, and I forgot it anyway) and having the time of my life. 

Talk turns to clothes. Monica saw a fashion show on TV last night, and starts making fun of a dress she'd seen, drawing a picture of it for us.

I agree that it does look stupid. "Who'd want to wander around in a $3000 haystack?"

"Seriously," Devon pipes up. "I've seen better stuff at Dollar General. Hey, speaking of clothes, there's a mall-wide sale going on today from three to five. Anybody wanna come with me?"

Monica's eyes go huge. "Mall-wide?"

"Yup. Every store has at least one thing on sale, anywhere from 10 to 60 percent off. Even the food court has discounts today."

"Awesome! Count me in!"

"Jen, Katie, how 'bout you guys?"

"I'm poor 'cause my dad's stingy, but that doesn't mean that I can't window shop and try stuff on. Besides, I'm stuck waiting for the 5:30 bus anyhoo," I say.

Devon turns her attention to Jenna. "How about it, Jenna? Do you want to come with us?"

"Yeah," Jen sighs, "but I have to work all this week."

Monica sticks out her lower lip. "Boo. That stinks. Well, we'll just have to set up something for when you don't have work."

"Yeah, sure." Jen doesn't look too sure that can happen. Huh.

Oh, well, no time to ponder that now. The warning bell just rang.

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"It couldn't have waited until 6:30 to do this and get me out of a soccer game with the Dixon High bullies. Oh, no, it had to start raining down in buckets the moment my friends and I decide to walk to the mall!" Devon grumbles. 

Monica, Devon, and I all try cram under Devon's tiny umbrella as we dash from awning to awning in a desperate attempt to not get any more soaked than we already are. Ha. Nice try.

When we finally make it to the mall at twenty-five till 4 (school's out at 2:30, and the walk should have taken us about 20 minutes), we're all cold, drenched, and starving. Monica and Devon both slipped and fell at least three times, straight into a mud puddle. (The only reason I didn't is because I've had plenty of practice walking on leaves in the rain. But seriously, what moron leaves their clippings in the middle of the sidewalk?)

Monica lay out a plan of action. "Okay, first, we all go into Bath & Body Works and buy bath sheets. Then we dry off in the bathroom as best we can and go get something to eat. After that, we go get some decent clothes, change, and enjoy the rest of our shopping trip."

"Uh, Monica, one problem. I have no money, remember? Cheapskate dad?" Except with my brothers.

"No problem, Kate. I'll cover you for today. Consider it an early birthday present."

I'm too shocked to protest.

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Twenty minutes later, we're in the food court, munching pizza (which I've never had before; strict Chinese raising and all that, you know) and wearing the coolest clothes I've ever seen. Devon's got a yellow Snoopy T-shirt with "Joe Disco" on it, a denim shrug, and a ravel-bottomed jean skirt with intricate white beading. Monica's wearing a black tank with crystal-studded d-rings on the shoulders and white capris. I lucked out on finding black iridescent flares with silver insets and topstitching and a red shirt with sheer, fluttery sleeves both on 50 off racks. Monica insisted on buying both for me when I gave them a longing look. She'd shoved me off when I hugged her with an "Aw, what are friends for anyway?" 

A clinching of my bladder brings me out of my reverie. "I need to use the ladies' room. I snitched too much of Devon's Gatorade at lunch."

I wash my hands before redoing my belt, not wanting to ruin the rhinestone-set heart buckle with pee germs. Out of nowhere, I hear a crunching sound and look at the wall where it seemed to have come from. Then, with a sickening rumble-WRENCH-_SCREECH_, the wall gives way to the weirdest machine I've ever seen. I don't have time to ponder it long, because a hatch opens, and something starts to crawl out. Knowing I'll never make it out of the gigantic bathroom in time, I dash into the nearest stall and climb up on the toilet, leaving the door open to maintain the appearance of vacancy.

Whatever emerges smells awful. I have to fight to keep from barfing.

Peeping out through the slim opening, I see a gigantic guy with a blond ponytail and something over his shoulder. "Stockman, this _isn't_ headquarters! It's a ladies' bathroom! The master's going to have our hides!"

"Well, if you hadn't thrown that thing into the navigation system, we wouldn't be in this mess now, would we, Hun?"

Hun?!! Hun as in Honey, or Hun as in Attila the Hun? I'm not quite sure I want to know. The thing on "Hun's" shoulder groans. It's alive? Hun ignores it and whirls around to face the currently hidden Stockman. As he does, I get a good look at it. My first impression is of a deep blue-green, like you'd see on a spruce tree. Hun and Stockman are arguing now, but I'm too mesmerized to understand what they're saying. The green thing is humanoid, with a red bandana around its head and brown elbow- and kneepads. Hun moves again, and I get a glimpse of a shell. A turtle? Whatever it is, it's got some kind of weird . . . beauty? No, wrong word. Allure. That's the one I want. It's got a kind of weird allure for me.

I focus in on the arguing captors again just in time to hear Stockman whining about probably having his dissection privileges taken away for this, not to mention losing another body part. That did it. They were most likely going to kill this creature. Somehow, I knew I couldn't let them. Leaning against the wall for balance, I removed my new stiletto-heeled ankle boots. I know a thing or two about martial arts, because I used to spy on my brothers' kung fu lessons with Grandpa Shang, not to mention I've memorized every Jackie Chan or Jet Li move I've ever seen, and managed to learn about half of them (the ones that don't involve scaling walls or doing backflips).

I look out the sliver-opening again, and nearly jump. The turtle-thing is moving! It seems to sense me, and winks.

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That's all I have time for now. I'm on vacation, and my tour's about to leave. Please R&R! 


	5. Retaliation

Yay! I'm finally out of my writer's block! Seriously, sorry for taking so long on writing this chapter. As per usual, I do not own TMNT, but I do own my OCs, and I again threaten bodily harm if you take one without asking nicely.

Also, thanks to Spiritual Stone for pointing out the personality conflict thing. I went back and reread it, and it did sound weird, so I decided to edit this chapter. Hence the second update in so little time. (I was too lazy to combine these two chapters, though, so I left 'em as is.)

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All of a sudden, the turtle guy flips over Hun's back. From the soprano ARRK! that follows the move, I can only assume the red bandana-clad character hit Stockman squarely on a rather painful area. Then a rather tan guy with (I think) an eyepatch and a mechanical arm goes flying past my little peephole and straight into the stomach of the now-charging Hun. Naturally, Hun wants revenge, and an all-out fight ensues as the cowardly Stockman takes refuge somewhere, supposedly in the freaky digger machine.

As I watch the fight, it becomes increasingly apparent that my green rogue is getting the snot beat out of him. Without pausing to think about where the "my" came from (or how I new he was a guy to begin with), I proceed to throw the outward-swinging stall door open just as the turtle nails Hun on the chest, knocking him into a series of backward stumbles. The end result is that Hun's blond head gets banged between the metal door and the concrete wall and he slumps to the floor, stunned.

The turtle gives me a huge grin as his eyes twinkle behind his bandana mask. "Nice," he says as he gives me a thumbs-up. I can't help but return the grin.

As we smile at each other, I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Hun shoots up and forward towards us, and the turtle and I both react at the same time. Neitherof us needs to do any damage, however, as Hun's ponytail somehow (and rather inexplicably) has gotten caught in the door hinge.

Neither the turtle nor I can manage to hold back the hysterical laughter that bubbles up inside our chests. Needless to say, our laughter really hacks Hun off, and he swiftly disengages his hair from the stall door hinge and renews his attack. The turtle, being in Hun's direct tragectory, takes the brunt of the the attack and has the wind knocked out of him. Hun suddenly freezes, doubled over with his jaw clenched and his eyes bugging out, and rather than trying to figure out why, I take advantage of the respite and clock Hun on the back of his head with my stilletos.

He faints, unfortunately with his unconcious mass falling on the turtle. "Oof!" I hurry to pull Hun off of him, the turtle assisting me by pushing with his feet.

No sooner do we get the unconcious bulk off of my new friend than I'm grabbed from behind with a spindly mechanical hand. A cold metal circle presses against my temple. I haven't read many action stories, but from the multiple John Wayne and James Bond fanfics I've read, I gather that such a sensation normally means that one had a small caliber gun held to one's head. Oh my GOSH, Stockman is going to shoot me. No, more likely, he's going to use me as a hostage to get cooperation from the turtle.

"You have two choices. One, you can attack me, and I will shoot her. Two, you can surrender peacefully, and I will let her go as soon as you are restrained again."

The poor turtle just stood there, looking like he was about ready to kill something (namely Stockman). His fists clenched and unclenched, and his chest started to heave. Suddenly, I couldn't take it any more. I'd been a victim all my life, abused and coerced and beaten into being submissive. And then here was this guy, going through the same thing, not even having a "normal" exterior to hide behind, and he'd been the first guy to treat me decently. All I'd gotten from the guys at school so far were leering looks. So when I finally acted, it was with the pent-up rage of all my fifteen years of being treated like dirt all concentrated into one blow, right where it hurt the most.

"HAH!"


	6. At a Loss

Yay! Two chapters in one day! Same disclaimer as before.

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Raph's POV 

"HAH!"

Th' girl attacks Stockman with a force I've nevah seen from any livin' bein' on th' planet, drivin' her socked heel inta th' moron's crotch area an' makin' 'im scream like a girl. She flips him over her shoulder toward the other wall, an' he lands a faceplant in th' sink, then falls ta th' floor, unconscious. Then she just stands there, pantin'.

She'd started sweatin' sometime durin' the ordeal, an' her brown hair was lookin' even more scraggly than when I'd first seen her. Her red top an' black pants are soaked through in the worst places, clingin' to her ample form like they'll nevah let go. I say worst, 'cuz they were the most attractive places, and my body was doin' weird stuff. She might notta been freaked out by me, but she is NOT goin' ta take th' news that I'm attracted to her (in more than one way) very well. Especially when we've just become aware of each other's existence like ten minutes ago. Well, who can blame me, really? When ya find somebody that accepts ya even though yer' a freak, she can fight like 'at, and is THAT hot, yer' probably gonna find yerself comin' across reactions you nevah thought ya were capable of.

Ta buy myself some time ta recover an' get my body in check, I go into th' . . . thing Hun an' Stockman had been drivin' ta see if I can find somethin' ta tie 'em up with. I find some spare cables fer somethin' er other in a random compartment and take 'em out, tie 'em up, an' drag 'em back inta the freak machine.

She's still standin' there, so, figurin' I got nothin' ta lose, I say, "Sorry fer the late intro, but the name's Raphael. What about you?"

"Katie. So, um, now what?"

"I ain't got th' slightest."

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Neither do I. Help! I have writer's block again! Please R&R. Any and all suggestions are welcome! 


	7. What Chai Tea Does to Your Brain

I know it's late and I'm insane, but I'm too hacked to sleep (hacked is really really cheesed off aka seriously angry). I need to write, or I'm going to kick something. Then I'm going to eat a cookie from my secret stash.

Here's the chapter I wish I could have written a month ago.

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Katie's POV 

Our decision is made for us when the drill-machine thing starts up again and zips out of sight. Raphael and I look at each other.

"Uh, guess I din't tie 'em as tight as I thought I did," Raphael grinned sheepishly.

"Apparently not."

At a loss for words, we just stare at each other again.

A voice suddenly calling my name jerks us out of it. I whip my head around toward the door, suddenly trying to figure out just exactly how to explain why I got so sweaty making a trip to the bathroom. And why it took me so long for a pee break.

I turn back to where Raphael was standing, but all I see is thin air. Monica and Devon charge in and practically glomp me.

"Areyouokay?Whathappened?Whatsgoingon?What'swiththeholeinthewall?

"Seriously, guys, shut up and let a girl get a word in edgewise. I'm fine. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but something jumped me, I fought it, and it ran away. End of story, at least that I know." It's lame, I know, but what can you expect with three and a half seconds' notice?

Moni and Dev buy it, though, so it can't be as lame an excuse as I thought.

The mall security buys it, too. The only thing that really happens is that they close off that restroom to public use until the cops can go over it. I'm gonna laugh if the government cites them for endangering the public wellbeing or something.

I'm disappointed that I don't see Raphael again, but what do I expect him to do? Show up in the middle of a crowded mall? Yeah, right. Chances are, I'll never see him again. Somehow, that thought depresses the fight right out of me. I'm pretty sure I should be glad that I got to meet him at all, that I actually got a chance to be a part of something bigger than me for once in my life, but I can't.

The rest of the unbearably short afternoon passes by in a blur. I get on the bus home and try to think about my homework, but all my mind can conjure up is images of Raphael's smirk as he gets the upper hand on Hun for the third, fourth, fifth time, the I-don't-believe-this expression on his face as I flip Stockman over my shoulder into a sink.

Then, like somebody just shined a floodlight in my dark-accustomed eyes, I get it. _Girl, are you insane? You got a crush on a mutant turtle, for crying out loud! A superhero-type one at that! Do you really think a reptile is going to go for an ugly half-breed mammal like you? Besides, you won't ever see him again. Better to just forget it._

_How the blooming blazes am I supposed to forget that? Besides . . . I don't really want to._

_Oh, give it up!_

This conversation goes on for the entire bus ride, and for hours afterwards. I nearly drop a dish, earning me a scolding from my mother. Mother never scolds. Sighs, suggests, corrects, but never scolds. I fight back my tears. Father yells at me, too, when he gets home. He sees me through the window beside the door, running to get it at his insistent ringing of the doorbell.

I go take out the trash while Mother and Father eat, using the excuse of sorting the recycling to bawl out my woes to the night sky. I wish I could see the stars, so I could find the brightest one. I wish I could be normal, not for the first time, and in the same breath I wish I could be a _real_ Chinese girl instead of a mixed breed, so that I could make my parents, my father, proud.

I jump when I hear a rustling noise in the grass beside me.

"I was wondrin' when ya'd get around ta comin' out here," a now-familiar voice whispers. A male voice. My head snaps around, and I can't believe what I'm seeing.

"Raphael!" I blurt out.

"Yeah. Just call me Raph. And lower your voice a little, wouldja?"

Lowering my voice to a whisper, "D-Did you hear me?"

"Pretty much ev'ry word."

I hang my head.

"Katie, what in the world did they do ta ya?" I just whimper out a sob.

"It's not their fault. If I were better—"

"Bull." A pair of strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to Raph. "You really believe that—that . . . that they're feeding you?"

"I _know­_ it's not true, but my heart won't listen. After you've been told something all your life, it sorta just . . . gets assimilated. Into what you think about yourself."

"It's th' biggest load'a bullhockey I've ever heard in my life. So don't think it." I just bury my face in his shoulder and cry.

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I really needed to get that out of my system. Review, please! 


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